


A Forbidden Friendship

by the_bonny_wordsmith



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Feels, Love, Red String of Fate, Regret, Zutara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_bonny_wordsmith/pseuds/the_bonny_wordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Zutara AU that rewrites the entire story of "Avatar: The Last Airbender" from the beginning. <br/>Eight year old Katara finds herself taken away from her family and home by the hands of Fate to where she may do good in the heart of the Fire Nation with a troubled young Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Last Act of a Mother's Love

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tempest in a Teacup](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/25654) by AkaVertigo. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fire Nation attack the Southern Watertribe, and Kya makes the ultimate sacrifice.

Katara had barely moments between the confusing discovery of the black snow and the shocking onslaught that followed. The Fire Nation soldiers carved their way through the thick outer walls of the settlement with their bending, shifting great chunks of ice and snow that had sat there and marked her home’s boundaries her entire life with the same ease of the womenfolk’s knives scraping seal blubber from the skin. Her wide frightened eyes took in scenes that no eight year old ought to witness; faceless men in flanged red and black armour with helmets like hawks indiscriminately bringing down people who had known her since her infancy with blasts of their unforgiving fire, the screams of the terrified children and the anxious women, the shouts of the fighting menfolk who were still rushing from where they had been to defend their home and families and friends, the women who were desperately taking up arms to protect their children, the agonised cries of the burned and dying.

She might have stayed standing, frozen by fear and shock if Sokka hadn’t leapt at her, dragging her out of the way of a stray jet of fire just in time. They rolled over in the powdery snow, still speckled with black, and, in some places, now with blood.

“I’m going to find Mum.” Sokka did not argue with his little sister, watching her as she stumbled away through the snow, before following her with the fear of a boy first confronted with war in his face, uncertainly drawing his boomerang.

 

Kya ran into them before they had reached the large igloo in the centre of the village that was their home. Her face, in which they had only ever seen kindness and laughter and concentration, and, sometimes gentle scolding, was lined with their first experience of seeing a mother’s terror. She clasped her children to her with enough force to crush them; it frightened them. They had only ever known safety in their mother’s arms, but now there was something in their mother, and although they didn’t know it, it was going to change their lives forever.

Kya had seen the man with the open helm, the helm that was more elaborate than any of the other soldiers, and had known, instantly, that he was their leader. She had noticed what her children hadn’t as they had run past him towards her; his movement from house to house, between the cowering groups of women she knew who were sheltering their children. She had guessed what he had come for, and she was not about to let him take it.

All of her motherly instincts, the instincts that drove a mother to protect her young, even with her own life, had risen to the surface, and were guiding her actions. Quickly and quietly she took her children by the hand, and snuck through the village, moving back through deserted areas that the Fire Nation soldiers were yet to reach, and out through the rear gates. The children followed their mother, silenced by fear and confusion, and it was not until they had nearly arrived at their destination that they began to wonder aloud why it was that their mother was taking them to the little flotilla of fishing canoes that rested in a rare and enlarged channel where the sea came in through the icy land.

“What’s happening? Where’s Dad?” Sokka asked, a little quicker on the uptake than his sister, as his mother began ushering them into one of the canoes and tugging at the rope that secured it to pull out the stake from the snow.

“Don’t worry, Sokka; your father is fighting with the men – he’ll be fine.” She replied, her breath coming out in clouds of steam. The canoe was now free, and the only thing keeping the children from drifting away from their mother and land was the rope that remained trapped beneath her foot. “Listen to me, my little penguins.” Kya knelt down, before her frightened children, and lifted her gloved and mittened hands to their small faces. “You’ll be safe in the canoe; understand. Whatever you do, do not get out and stay quiet. Wait until someone comes to find you, all right?” Katara was staring at her mother in confusion, but Sokka nodded slightly.

“What about you and Dad?” He asked.

“Don’t worry about us; we’ll be fine.” Kya’s voice was strained, but she put as much reassurance into the words as she could. “Someone will be back soon.”

“Mummy, I don’t want to leave; I don’t want you to go.” Katara was shaking her head, the words mangled by her sobbing as she clung to her mother about the neck. Kya stroked her daughter’s hair soothingly, hugging her to her.

“Oh, my little fish,” she murmured sadly. “It’s only a good bye for now; we’ll see each other again.” Katara pulled her tear stained face out of the fur of her mother’s hood.

“Really?” She asked, her lips still trembling.

“Definitely.” Kya nodded and smiled, and her daughter reluctantly released her. Kya reached up to the back of her neck and undid the fastening of the betrothal necklace that her husband had gifted her with. She folded it into her daughter’s tiny hands. “Keep it safe for me; see – I wouldn’t give it to you if we weren’t going to see each other again, would I?” Katara nodded, comforted. Kya turned to her son, who was rather bright around the eyes himself, but sticking out his lower lip in a determined effort not to cry. “Be a proper little wolf warrior for your father, Sokka; and look after your sister for me.” Sokka pursed his mouth and nodded.

“Ok,” the word came out somewhat hoarse and rather wobbly.

“I love you both very much,” Kya clasped her children to her one last time, before tearing herself out of their clinging grip and releasing the rope. The current, which had already been pulling at the canoe, began to lead it away from the edge of the hard packed ice and snow, drifting it out into the empty bulb of the little harbour that the men of the tribe had long ago dug out.

Katara was crying once more, clinging to the edge of the canoe, and held back by her brother, whose attempt at a manly lack of tears had at long last crumpled. Kya waved at her children once, attempting a smile, before turning around and heading back to the village before they could glimpse her tears.

 

Kya’s return to the village did not go unnoticed. The small blue figure re-entering via the back gates caught Yon Rha’s eye as he exited the last of the small igloos, and he followed her progress into the central igloo; the home of the chieftain. He had seen the chieftain fighting alongside the menfolk of his village earlier, and knew as he began walking towards the igloo that his audience would not be interrupted.

The captain of the Southern Raiders ripped through the curtain that barred the entrance. In the central chamber the woman was waiting for him. She stood as he entered, her chin held high, though there was determined fear in her eyes. “Tell me who the last waterbender is.” He demanded.

Kya swallowed, her suspicions confirmed. “If I tell you, will you order your men to leave the rest of the village alone?” She asked, keeping the tremor of fear out of her voice.

Yon Rha narrowed his eyes, the nodded.

“It’s me; _I’m_ the last waterbender.” They were the bravest words she had said in her entire life. “Here.” She lifted up her hands, her wrists ready to be manacled.

Yon Rha paused just long enough to raise his eyebrows, remembering his previous observation of her. “Prove it.” He said.

It was a struggle for Kya to keep her surprise from her face, and her mind raced. “No. I’m not some performing animal; just take me and leave the village alone.”

Yon Rha laughed a rasping, unpleasant chuckle. “I _know_ you aren’t the last waterbender; so you might as well drop the act. Tell me where they are! There are plenty of other people in your village who might tell me; and we have _methods_ of loosening the tongue…your husband, for example – how long do you think he might be able to remain silent as we torture you before his eyes? I assure you we are not barbaric like your people; we have a thousand ways of making people hurt more than they can bear without killing them.” Kya shuddered with revulsion, but anger had sparked in her eyes.

“You’re disgusting,” she spat. “You’re lower than the worst parasite at the bottom of the ocean. You can’t torture the villagers; they don’t know who the last waterbender is! And even if they did, they would never tell someone as evil as you!” Kya spat in his face, staring at him, watching the anger rise.

A split second later she was on the ground, stunned by the force of the back handed blow he had delivered across her face, her ear still ringing. Slowly, Yon Rha wiped the spit off his face, and flicked it off the back of his hand, the drops splattering across Kya where she lay, struggling to move to a sitting position.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice flesh-creepingly smug as he moved to step around her, heading for the rear exit – the exit that she had come in by, “that was most… _illuminating_.”

Kya lay for a moment, frowning, before the realisation of what she had done hit her like an avalanche. “ _No!_ ” She shrieked, spinning about and lunging for him a second too late.

Yon Rha let his hands fall to his sides, and exited, not even glancing at the burned body of the woman he had just killed where she lay across the floor. As he exited, he jerked his head, and four soldiers came to his side.

“Sir?” Asked one.

“Follow me,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the trail of footprints in the snow that led to the rear exit of the village; “we’ve got a waterbender to find.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	2. The First Step of a Father's Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katara and Sokka face the perils of fire and ice, the Fire Nation soldiers retreat, and Hakoda discovers his wife.

It was not difficult to follow the trail of footprints. The snow was deep, and Yon Rha had no concerns about the children-sized footprints that he obscured beneath his own; he had a job, and he was going to do it. Loyalty to his mission; loyalty to the Fire Lord; loyalty to the Fire Nation – that was all. The way these people lived was barbaric in any case – they were like beggars, with their tents and stinking furs; even their weapons were primitive things made from bone.

They halted at the edge of the ice where the tracks stopped, spreading out along the curve of the bank. All of the boats were tied up, save a solitary canoe out in the middle of the harbour. At the sound of their approach, it rocked, rippling the water, and the small dark head of a Water Tribe girl peeped over the edge of the canoe, her large blue eyes questioning and fearful. Her question, “Mum?” came to them across the water, trembling and scared.

A second head, belonging to a boy, appeared next to her. His reactions were faster than the girl’s, his assessment of the situation processed quicker as he gave Yon Rha and his men a single look of terror mixed with a child’s idea of courage before putting his hand on top of the girl’s head and pushing her back down again.

Fast as his actions were, however, they were not faster than the girl’s mouth. “Mummy?” She called out again, her voice louder, more urgent, and beginning to become strident with fear.

Yon Rha knew that one of these children was the last waterbender in the South Pole. He moved to one side, then nodded at his men. The rank moved as one man, each sending a burning jet of flames towards the canoe.

 

Sokka was not sure what the Fire Nation soldiers were going to do. He was between hissing at Katara to shut up and telling her to stay down when he heard the muted _fwomp_ of heat burning up air and then a moment’s experience of intense heat before the wall of flames engulfed him and his sister and their canoe with a crackling whoosh.

“ _Katara get down!_ ” He screeched over her alarmed scream, pulling her down and dropping to the bottom of the canoe himself, flinging himself over her to protect her from the worst of the heat. Their hoods fell over their heads, protecting them from brunt of the first blast of the heat wave, but both could feel beads of sweat collecting on their foreheads and over their upper lips, as well as the cold sweat of fear that cooled then heated their backs.

Sokka cautiously peered up at the burning canoe around them, feeling his eyes drying from the shimmering heat of the flames that were crackling around them. Katara looked up as well, but almost instantly shielded her face from the intensity of the heat, falling back and curling up in a protective ball.

 

Yon Rha watched the burning boat, his eyes narrowed, wondering whether the two children were going to try to jump through the flames and into the water. The force of the firebending had pushed the canoe further away, and the pull of the current that flowed along the channel beyond and out to sea was tugging at it insistently.

Even if the children _did_ jump they were too young to fight the strength of the current that was beginning to take hold of their little vessel, and Water Tribe though they were, he knew that they would drown if they didn’t burn. Even the waterbender wouldn’t be able to do anything, whichever one it was; they were both too young to utilise such skills – only the exceedingly precocious individuals ever gained access to their bending at such a young age, and neither looked anything more than ordinary; and that was a compliment. He turned, motioning for his men to follow him and return to his ship, not looking back.

 

“Come on, Katara! You can do it – you’ve _got_ to do it!” Sokka urged his little sister.

“Sokka, I can’t – I’m too scared,” Katara replied through her tears.

“Come _ON_ , Katara! Jump!” He shouted. Katara shook her head, but it was getting too hot for Sokka to keep on trying to cajole her. The fire was creeping nearer and nearer, and he was already feeling dryer than the hardest seal jerky he had ever eaten.

Without a word, Sokka stepped behind his sister and pushed her squarely in between the shoulder blades. Katara screamed as she fell through the flames, though the sound was stopped as she toppled into the freezing water with a great splash.

Sokka only paused long enough to hear the splash of his sister hitting the water before he followed her, screwing up his courage and jumping through the wall of fire and into the invitingly familiar, though not necessarily safer, water beyond.

He surfaced with a great burst of air and water, and stared around. Katara was spluttering nearby, just out of arms reach, coughing up the water she had swallowed in the middle of her scream. Her face was dirty with soot and tearstains, and she was as thoroughly soaked as her brother.

They floated, treading water the way they had been taught whilst they made sense of the new situation they were in.

 

Yon Rha moved through the village, gathering his men to his side as he passed, the rear of his departing force covered by a rank of soldiers who continued to fight off the tribesmen and women that attacked them, and who burned the remaining tents that they passed.

As they reboarded the ship, Yon Rha smirked; it was too easy – like taking a toy from a baby. Now, with the last waterbender dead, the Southern Water Tribe posed about as much threat to the Fire Nation as a horsefly did to an armadillo rhino.

 

Hakoda stood, watching the departing Fire Nation ship with a deep seated unease in his stomach that unsettled his heart. They had attacked out of nowhere, and disappeared without defeating them or taking any prisoners. Hakoda was not one to sell his men short, but he knew that he and his warriors were no match for the Fire Nation force they had been battling; the soldiers had attacked them, yes, but there was something about the way they had been fighting that had been somewhat unnerving. A carelessness. None of them had really dealt any death blows unless they were forced to. So why had they left? What had they come for if not to wipe out the Southern Water Tribe? His people rushed about him, tending to the wounded and putting out the fires that still burned, and he did not need to look to see the little clustered groups of women and children around the fallen bodies to know that some had died, for their mourning cries rose up into the cold air that had so recently been filled with the sound of fighting.

His thoughts still troubling him, Hakoda swung around, and began to survey the scene of destruction that had been his village. The walls would need rebuilding and ideally reinforcing – that would take time and a painful amount of effort now that there were no trained waterbenders – and they would probably have to make the village smaller and more defendable, almost all of the tents would need to be mended or completely replaced, and an igloo needed to be set aside to house the wounded. His people needed to be reassured, they needed to be protected and provided for; they needed _him_.

Hakoda began issuing orders, directing the flow of people, splitting them into teams; some to put out the remaining fires, some to salvage what they could of the tents, some to help the women and carry the wounded to the only igloo still standing besides the central one that was his home and meeting chamber (he paused to think that it would soon become a place for councils of war), and some to shift the dead to one side and lay them out with the respect they deserved.

They did his bidding without question, taking some small hope from their stalwart chieftain, his solidity and firmness providing them some anchor of calm in the panic that was rushing around them. Hakoda set off for his igloo, intent on finding his family, reassuring them, and asking his wife to set about organising the women and children. That was the thought that was keeping _him_ anchored amongst all the panicking chaos that was surrounding him. His family. His darling wife was the stars he compassed his life by, just like the stars in the sky that he used to navigate the frozen tundra of his home, and his children reminded him every day that he had something to cherish and be thankful for – something to fight for and defend in this horrible war that was taking over the world and making people go mad. His family were his everything.

“Kya?” He called, unable to prevent himself from smiling as he spoke her name, pushing aside the curtain that blocked the doorway to their igloo.

 

Hakoda’s agonised cry brought people running. Buckets of water were dropped, and tents left to collapse as the men and women of his tribe rushed to their chieftain’s igloo. Kanna, who had been supervising the transferral of the wounded into the igloo set aside for their care, hurried along as fast as her age would let her. She was not so old that she required aid to move yet, but in that moment she started to feel a frost set in her joints and it did not bode well.

As she reached the igloo, the people of the village parted for her. She saw the fresh tears that wet their faces and the pitying condolences in their expressions, and she felt as though ice had encased her heart. She rushed the last few steps into the igloo, and was brought up short by the scene that confronted her.

Hakoda was on the ground, cradling his wife’s body in his arms. Patches of her furs had been burned away and the exposed skin was black and looked crisp in some places and melted in others. Where her skin had already been exposed, on her face and her hands where she had thrown them up to shield herself, the skin had been burned completely away, the edges flaky and a painful reddish black, and the glistening exposed flesh beneath the bright blood red of freshly cooked meat. Her hair had been frazzled by the heat of the flames, and at the front it was burned right off, her scalp raw. Kanna stumbled forwards the last few steps and fell to her knees beside her son and daughter-in-law.

Kya was not dead; not yet. She stared up at her husband and mother-in-law, her eyes red from the blood vessels that had burst from the extreme heat, and her lipless mouth moved faintly. Hakoda dipped his head closer to his wife, careful not to let his tears fall on the melted skin of her now unrecognisable face. Her voice was a dry whisper, but contained all the emotion that only a dying woman’s last words can convey when she has a higher cause to think of than her own demise. “ _The children._ ”

Hakoda did not need to look at his wife’s face to know that her spirit had left her broken body. His heart was filled with infinite sadness, but his wife’s last words, the urgent injunction they had carried, had forged his grief into a weapon of absolute anger.

Tenderly, he surrendered his wife’s body to his mother, who was rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her face, and gazed around the igloo. There was no sign of his son or daughter. It had barely been a week ago that he and Kya had discussed where they would take their children if there was a Fire Nation raid.

Determinedly, he strode out, snatching up a club as he left. The women remained behind, gathering around Kanna, although not touching her, respecting her grief; the men followed Hakoda.

It was the work of an instant to discover the trampled path through the snow that led to the fishing harbour, and the recognition of some of the footprints to belong to the Fire Nation soldiers only sped Hakoda’s footsteps even more, rushing out of the rear gate and towards the harbour.

Hakoda drew up short at the edge of the ice, his eyes horrified at the sight of the very prow of one of the canoes, still burning, sinking slowly beneath the surface of the water to be claimed by the icy depths. With a strangled cry, he dropped his weapons and dove into the water, ignoring the pain of the sudden freezing temperature that made his body feel like it was being needled by thousands of tiny shards of ice. He was not going to lose his entire family today; not if he could help it.

He pulled himself through the water, opening his eyes to look through the water in his desperation, risking his sight in the freezing temperature if only it meant he might glimpse his children. Half of the others also dove in, joining their chief in his search.

Their efforts were in vain, however.

Hakoda was the last to be pulled from the water, and his usually tawny skin was pale and blue, his lips purple with cold. He was shivering, and the water in his hair quickly began to freeze.

“Hakoda. Hakoda!” Bato took his friend and chieftain by the shoulders and gave him a firm shake.

“I-I’ve got t-t-to find them, B-Bato,” Hakoda replied, the words slurred and muffled from his chattering teeth and frozen lips. “I’ve g-got to get them back!” Bato nodded seriously.

“We will, Hakoda.” He replied earnestly. “We’ll all help; but you freezing yourself half to death isn’t going to help us or them.” Hakoda stared blankly at his friend, still wracked by the deep set shivers of his spasming muscles.

“They w-weren’t in th-the water,” he said slowly, “they mu-must h-h-h-have escap-ped!” A new fire of resolve burned in his eyes, and it was only his friend’s restraining arm on his shoulder that prevented Hakoda from throwing off the spare furs and tearing off in search of his children.

“You’ve got to wait a little, Hakoda.” Bato insisted with quiet patience, although it was clear that he too was chafing to start searching. “You’ve got to get at least a little dry, and put your furs back on; we’ve got to think about where the children might have gone – about what might have happened, otherwise we won’t stand any chance of finding them.”

Hakoda gazed at his friend for a few long moments, the sternness of his gaze not affected by his shaking. He nodded briefly. “All right; but we have to be quick.”

Bato nodded and clapped his chief on the back; “We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	3. A Trial of Ice and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sokka and Katara do battle with the elements to survive and stay together.

Sokka and Katara had not been very concerned on where the current was taking them when they first escaped the burning canoe. Their only thoughts were about how glad they were that they were moving further away from it; they had had more than enough of flames for one day. Their relief was such that they did not even notice how cold the water was, although their bodies had. It was not until the current began to get stronger, and the little channel wider, that they started to realise just how far they had drifted and the potential danger of the situation they now found themselves in.

In the gentler currents of before, they had been able to keep afloat with relative ease, but now the water was getting stronger, and their thick, heavy furs were utterly waterlogged, and restricted their movement, hampering their ability to keep their heads above the freezing water. They began to be buffered by waves and a current much stronger than they were used to dealing with, and they found their entire world narrowed down to just the other’s face.

“Katara! Swim towards me!” Panted Sokka as he furiously paddled his limbs, aiming for his sister but continuing to be washed backwards the way the water wished to flow. There was no point in his pretending not to be frightened now; they were in trouble, and no amount of acting on his part could keep that realisation from dawning on his baby sister. If they didn’t do something soon then they were either going to drown or freeze to death and panicking about it wasn’t going to help; the best he could do was come up with solutions. “We’ll be all right if we stay together,” he called between spitting out mouthfuls of half swallowed sea water that were cold enough to make his teeth ache. It was difficult to see whether Katara was nodding, for the waves were bobbing her up and down, but from the determined frown and set of her mouth, Sokka knew that his sister had heard and understood him.

The two children fought the cold current with all the strength in the quickly failing limbs, striving to reach each other, even if all it would achieve was their feeling a little safer together, though pragmatically it had little chance of doing so.

Eventually, a kindly wave helped Katara’s tiring body along, and Sokka managed to grab hold of her mittened hand. They clung on to each other, holding fast to the only stability available in the shifting icy tides. In their efforts to reach one another, they had not taken notice of their surroundings, or where the current was taking them, and now that they could spare the awareness, they found themselves in a wide expanse of open ocean, drifting between icebergs and being carried steadily towards what appeared to be a great cliff of ice in the far off distance, split in half, with the water running through it fast enough to turn white. But maybe that was just a trick of the light or distance.

The current suddenly picked up, surprising the siblings enough to jerk their hands out from each other’s grip. Katara, scared of what might happen to her if she drifted away from her brother and alone in the frozen ocean, wished, wished so hard she thought her heart would break that she and Sokka could be on an ice floe. Her fingers twitched as she continued to think the wish over and over, and suddenly the water beneath her and her brother began to solidify. First a thin pane of clear ice, fractured with snowflake shaped stars, and then quickly thickening and whitening until, somehow, they were together, safe, on an ice floe, their legs frozen halfway into it.

The children were too exhausted to be surprised or even grateful at the magical appearance of the floe; they were wet and cold, and only just able to feel vaguely glad that they were at last out of the blood freezing water. They lay there, panting, getting their breath back, their breath condensing into misty clouds, their bodies hard with cold. When at last they were able to take in their surroundings, fear began nibbling at their minds once more. They had no idea where they were, but they were far away from home and frozen into an ice floe that was steadily taking them further and further away, dripping wet and utterly spent.

Sokka pulled his legs experimentally, trying to free himself from the grip of the ice, but it was at least three feet thick and he was frozen in up to the knee. His sister watched him, and wriggled about herself. Sokka saw the panic beginning to rise in her eyes once more, and abandons his attempts to free himself with a careless laugh, rubbing his arms to free up his cooled circulation and stave off the blueness that he could feel creeping into his skin. “Huh! I didn’t want to get out anyway,” he said.

Katara began to quiver, her teeth chattering. Sokka watched her, unable to tell whether it was fright or cold that was making his sister shiver, but comforted her as best a little boy of nine could. “Don’t worry, Katara – Mum and Dad are going to find us; we just have to wait. I bet they’re pretty busy back at home; just think, by the time they come to find us everything will be fine, and we’ll be able to go home and eat some blubbered seal jerky and get warm and dry and sleep. You’ll see.” He reached out a wet mittened hand for one of hers, and by stretching they could just squeeze each other’s fingers. Katara nodded, and her shivering lessened a little. Sokka managed a smile, masking his own fears to lessen hers, beginning to feel the burden of manhood before his time. It unnerved him. But he was a warrior now; his mother had told him to look out for his little sister, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

 

Their floe continued drifting on for what felt like a very long time, following the insistent pull of the current, and the children, wet and cold as they were, began to doze, worn out from fear and their exertions. They began to feel thankful of their heavy furs, for they helped keep in the heat, despite their still being wet and beginning to smell like damp leopard dogs. Nestled inside their fur lined hoods, they slept, their small faces pillowed on their hands, floating in a never constant landscape of ice and snow and water.

 

They were woken by a violent rocking movement, which was strong enough even to jolt Sokka into consciousness. They gazed around, the movement creating quiet tinkling sounds as the icy shell of frozen water on their furs broke. Their little unlikely icefloe had been carried towards the far off cliffs of ice as they slept, and now they were between the two unforgiving walls of compacted ice and snow that seemed tall enough to scrape the sky, and in the most dangerous situation the icy water could offer them; a white water rapid. Effortlessly, they were pulled into the surging current, and both knew there was nothing they could do to stop their progression through the gauntlet of rushing water and ice that lay before them; they could only hang on to their little section of the madly moving puzzle, and hope that they came out safe, or at least in one piece.

The current was even stronger than before, raw power condensed into a tiny rushing torrent, dangerously funnelled between the cliffs and gathering speed all the time. As they entered the mouth of the icy ravine they noticed that theirs was not the only icefloe to be entering the current, and they watched as floes and chunks of ice drifted past them, nearly always larger than their own small patch of rocking stability. If they had any part of their bodies that was not already tingling with fear, the sight of the objects that they were soon going to be in swift and rough competition with for a passage through the rushing straits would have paralysed them. As it was, they were already so steeped in terror that the sight was no more than a few extra pounding heartbeats amongst the rest.

 

The journey was rough. The children were pushed from icefloe to icefloe, rammed with menacing speed at small icebergs and bounced off again to find the next point of heart stopping contact. Their floe struck each mark with all the raw force of the water, which seemed to be boiling with anger beneath them, each impact strong enough to jar them to the core and make their bones tremble. It was a dizzy, sickening experience. At every strike, a little of the ice of their cold floating island was knocked off and claimed by the water, small worrying fractures beginning to form at the edges, though the children could not find enough spare emotion within the wash of fear that was drenching them to be able to feel concern about such a fact. They clung on grimly, one handed, unwilling to release the tenuous contact they had with each other through their mittens; it was a far better thing for them to be together and in more danger from the water than separated but safer, for if they were to be separated neither felt they would truly be any safer. So they held on, desperate and scared, but in some small way comforted by the fact that they were together.

 

They were nearly out, their ordeal nearly over, when the last obstacle in their journey came into sight. The current had temporarily slowed, the difference being enough to bring both Sokka and Katara out from the warm shelter of their hoods to gaze about, releasing their grip on each other’s hands to push themselves up, feeling a lot like leopard seals, as they stared in blank astonishment at the obstruction they were flowing towards.

A section of the cliff appeared to have remained where it had always stood when the cliffs first split, and it was large enough that the force of the waters had not shifted it from the centre of the ravine where it now lay before the children; a great looming horn of ice. The rushing waters had carved away at its front until it was shaped with an edge like their father’s spear forming two separate rushing paths. As their floe drew nearer, the current suddenly picked up speed once more, bringing them directly towards the suddenly unforgiving face of ice. They both knew that no iceberg could be so large without being made of the hardest and toughest ice, and given that it came from the centre of cliffs it was likely to have been frozen for thousands of years, and just as hard as any stone or metal.

The children had no time to react, no time to try and redirect their course, and even if they had, there was nothing they could make use of to do so. Their floe met the iceberg head on, and the crack of the impact was deafening, like lightning cutting the sky in two right above their heads, the force shuddering through the ice like a miniaturised avalanche and drawing alarmed cries of fright from the children. Both closed their eyes just before the impact, instinctively huddling into their furred hoods and shielding their eyes from the ice shards that were as dangerous as knives and bound to fly from such a collision.

 

When they reopened their eyes, both wished that they hadn’t. Each child discovered that their floe had become smaller, _much_ smaller. It had been halved, and they were separated.

“Sokka!” Katara screeched, desperately scrabbling forwards towards the broken edge of the ice, her hands waving through the empty air in a panicked bid to catch hold of her brother’s equally frenzied reaching hand.

“Come _on_!” Yelled Sokka at nothing in particular, wriggling and squirming in an attempt to stretch himself out as far as possible to reach his sister’s hand. They were so tantalisingly close; their flailing fingers bare inches apart. But then they were more like a pace apart, and then a full body length, and both children knew that the current was dragging them away from each other.

Sokka and Katara stared at each other across the gradually widening expanse of water, their eyes filled with horror. They already knew that they couldn’t escape the ice that bound their legs, though it did not prevent them from trying, frantically, to beat ineffectually at it with their mittened hands, their efforts threatening to capsize them. Even if they had succeeded in freeing themselves, swimming in such currents was unthinkable; drowning was more likely than anything else. They were beginning to curve around the sides of the iceberg now, slipping out from each other’s vision.

Katara hopelessly watched her brother pull out his boomerang, which had miraculously stayed in its pouch on his back, and begin hacking at the ice that encased his legs. Seeing the fruitlessness of his task, Sokka abandoned it, staring up in time to see his baby sister just before she was pulled out of sight. He saw the despair in her eyes, and his grip on the boomerang tightened. “ _Katara!_ I’ll find you! I promise!” He yelled. “I _promise_!”

She watched, her eyes fixed on his wild, desperate expression, unable to do anything, not even to muster a shout. She was drained of all her usual boldness, and only managed a sad little whisper, “Sokka!” as her brother was whisked out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this, or any of my stories, and you want access to sneak previews on chapters that I'm working on, Like my Facebook page, or Follow my Twitter :)  
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	4. Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Sokka and Katara are delivered...but not by who you'd think.

Katara was too tired, too full of sadness to feel any more fear. She lay on the ice, huddled in her furs. With a frozen indifference she let herself be carried where the water wished to take her; there was no more fight left in her. Her mind drifted just as her ice floe did, and even when she entered a new set of rushing straits, she was too overcome by what she had already been through to truly be afraid. This time she made the icy gauntlet alone, not noticing the painful jolts as she struck other floes and icebergs, and not feeling any of her previous relief when at last she exited the danger unharmed as one of the many tiny little floes that made it through. Her eyes reflected the landscape of the vast cold ocean she was floating alone in, but she did not truly see it. She had felt so many extreme emotions with such strength in so concentrated an amount of time that it felt like her entire life had become this unbearably long, and yet madly fast montage of heightened feelings that revolved around her own fear and heart break. She had felt so much, been through so many trials, that now, she could feel nothing. She was broken.

 

*

 

Sokka’s half of the floe was more fortuitously destined than his sister’s. He did not notice that the path the water was taking him on was gradually narrowing, too busy trying to escape the frozen bindings on his legs, hacking away chips of ice until he was too tired to even lift his boomerang, his hands rubbed raw inside his mittens. He was so bent on his task that he was unaware at the crunching thud and sudden stillness of the ice when at last the channel he was in narrowed until his floe was wedged safely against land.

 

*

 

Bato heard the sound first. A faint chipping of ice carried with the whistle of the wind, and an exhausted panting following. He stopped, calling attention to it. At his words, Hakoda rushed past the rest of the men, leading them closer and closer, his legs moving faster than any of the others in his desperate urgency though the snow was up to their knees, until all of them could hear the listless hacking and the overwrought hiccupping sobs between. By then, they could see the origin of the sound. Sokka.

The boy’s furs stood out plainly against the snow, as he weakly delivered mechanical blows to the ice about him, his boomerang in hand. They could not see why the boy was doing what he was doing, nor make out the expression on his face, but there was one thing that was obvious from the moment they laid eyes on him. He was alone.

Hakoda skidded to a stop on his knees by his son, and it became apparent that the boy’s legs had somehow become deeply trapped in the ice floe that he sat on. He seized Sokka by the face, checking that the boy was unscathed, then turned his attention to the ice. It took half a dozen well aimed blows of his club to break the hold of the frozen water, separating it out into large lumps, and within moments Sokka was in his father’s arms, pressed tight into his furs.

“You’re ok, thank the Spirits, you’re ok.” Hakoda muttered. Sokka held onto his father tightly, his face screwed up.

“I failed mum!” He cried, his face still buried in his father’s furs. “I promised to look after Katara, and I lost her!” Hakoda’s face spasmed at the mention of his wife, and they separated, Sokka’s face a tear stained picture of misery and failure. Hakoda held his son at arm’s length, gazing seriously into his face.

“Where’s your sister?” He asked urgently, though his tone did not lack gentleness. “What happened to you two?”

Sokka’s face became even more distorted as he fought to keep back the wail in his throat and the tears that were stinging his eyes. “She got washed away!” He wailed. “We hit an ice berg, and the floe split, and she got washed away! I couldn’t save her, Dad! I – I couldn’t do _anything_! And I _promised_!” Hakoda clasped his son to his chest once more, soothing him as best he could.

“Tell us what happened from the start, Sokka.”

 

At the end of Sokka’s tale, Hakoda turned to his men; “Go back to the village; ready the ships and canoes. I want half of you to stay behind and help the women – the rest are coming with me to find my daughter. Go.” Bato gazed at his friend solemnly, then nodded, leading the others back the way they had come. Hakoda turned slowly back to face his son, his soul weighed down with the knowledge he was about to impart. “Sokka; I have no time to gentle about this. Your mother…” his voice hitched with pain, and Sokka stared up into his father’s face. It was the first time in his life he had ever seen his father cry, and in the intense suffering and pain, the little boy saw something that he did not yet understand to be the sign of a true man; a man strong enough to show his grief, and his true depth of feeling. “Your mother was killed.” Sokka felt his own face begin to mirror his father’s and they came together, father and son, husband and child kneeling in the snow, grieving for their loss of the wife and mother who had been the heart of their family.

 

*

 

Katara floated on, curled on her side. One hand remained over her heart, her mother’s necklace inside her mitten, curled up in the safety of her palm. She did not take in her surroundings, too absorbed in her own thoughts, making promises to herself, and unaware of the tears gently leaking out from the corners of her eyes. _They’ll come. Sokka said they’ll come. Mum and Dad will come and find me. They’ll bring me home. Sokka said. Sokka_ promised _. He said he’ll find me. I’ll be safe. I just have to wait. They’ll come; they_ always _come. Mum and Dad and Sokka. They never forget me. They promised. Mum promised. She gave me her necklace – of_ course _she’ll come. Mum doesn’t break promises. None of them break promises._

Her mind continued moving in circles, chanting the words over and over again in her head, weaving a patchwork quilt of hope that kept her warm as the dark of night fell over the wide open expanse of water, the stars reflected as bright silver pinpricks in the rippling inky darkness of the sea, the image broken only by the ghostly white shadows of icebergs, drifting like ragged swans with roughhewn cold majesty. Katara fell asleep, a tiny blue smudge on the blurred whiteness of her ice floe beneath the dark star spangled ink of the heavens, still thinking the words over to herself, _They promised. They don’t break their promises._

Her dreams circled like bubbles in a whirlpool, a dancing series of light warm images and memories; sounds and sights and smells from home. Laughter and singing, the taste of stewed sea prunes, the warm comforting smell of her mother and of her bed, the wide generous smile of her father, the ridiculous antics of her brother.

Sleep was at first warm, but as the night wore on, her body began to cool, her muscles to shiver, at first lightly, but then the movement becoming more and more pronounced, until she was moving with such violence that the floe bobbed and rocked, sending out ripples that mixed the reflected sky and stars into a silver streaked blackness. Her breath came out in small fast clouds of mist, her heart thumping harder and harder as she got colder, her skin becoming bluer and her lips purple.

Before dawn, her shivering stopped. Her breathing slowed, and her pulse was faint. Her dreams began to slow, drifting away like the last shadows of night before the rising sun, and when the sun did rise, Katara did not wake.

 

*

 

Jee shivered as he walked out into the open air, pulling his cloak tighter about him. It was always cold on deck in the South Pole, and it was always stuffy below deck on a Fire Navy ship; all those Firebenders confined in cramped quarters, and the extra heat that their bodies naturally gave off – it became stifling, even for a native born Firebender.

Rubbing his arms, he wandered over to the great curved prow of the ship, his mind dwelling on his family. His wife hadn’t wanted him to join the army; she didn’t care about the honour of dishonour of if, all she wanted was for her husband to be at home and to be a father to their daughter. She hadn’t wanted him to miss his daughter’s childhood, and for their daughter merely to have vague recollections of her father. He had scoffed. He had wanted to join the army since he was a child; there was valour and nobility in the cause – in bettering the lives of those who lived in the other Nations, in sharing the prosperity of the Fire Nation. But now Jee thought a little differently. He hadn’t seen his daughter in five years, and letters from his wife were infrequent.

He had been conned; he and all the other poor fools who had joined the decades long war of the Fire Nation. It seemed like a very noble idea at first, fighting for one’s Nation, bringing the supremacy of their element to the peoples of the world; but the reality was different. He was stuck on a ship in the middle of the sea, roaming through ice bergs that no ordinary person in the Fire Nation would ever see, or care about. He wanted to be _doing_ something for his country. But instead he was doing nothing, missing out on his daughter growing up. He remembered her eyes, grey like his own, and so large and trusting as they gazed up at him from where she lay in his arms the day he left. He had promised her a better world to live in, had promised his wife that he would return soon; but neither promise seemed anywhere near completion.

Jee sighed as he leant against the metal bulwark on the starboard side of the ship, staring out at the blue and white emptiness of the sea. The sun was just coming up, and he breathed in the warmth from its rays, feeling the hot rushing surge of power in his veins as he did so. Being up for dawn was always a good feeling. He remembered doing it on mornings when his daughter woke too early, cradling her against his chest and bouncing lightly along to keep her from grizzling, before taking her out into the garden, and standing facing the east to watch the sun rise above the horizon. He hadn’t known if she was a Firebender or not – he still didn’t –, she had been barely old enough to stand, but she seemed to enjoy the experience as much as he did; the first touch of a newly risen sun.

He gazed back down at the sea, smiling slightly, his expression tinged with faint sadness. It was so warm in the Fire Nation, but here it was always cold, always the same sort of thing to see; iceberg after iceberg floating alone in the freezing water that was freckled with ice floes. Jee frowned slightly. Except today there weren’t just icebergs and ice floes. He scrubbed his eyes, and looked again, not quite able to believe the conclusion his brain was drawing from the sodden patch of blue and white fur huddled on a tiny ice floe.

It was a child. It _had_ to be a child; no adult could be that small.

It was curled in on itself in a protective ball, just the way his daughter did when she was too cold, and its legs seemed to be encased in the ice. As the floe drifted closer to the ship, Jee’s doubts were resolved into truth as he made out a small pair of arms, and a straggling dark brown braid of hair draped over the ice. There was a child, perhaps dead, on the floe. A little Water Tribe girl.

Jee knew where the ropes were kept on deck, and it was the work of a few moments before he was lowering himself down over the edge of the ship, secured about the waist, a spare loop of rope in his hand. He had not needed to waste any thought on whether or not to save her; she was a child, harmless and defenceless, and probably dying if not already dead – she was the daughter of some family, the child of some father, and he knew that if it had been his daughter on the floe and a Water Tribesman in his position, he would hope that the man would save his daughter.

He hung, suspended a few feet above the water, waiting for the floe to drift near enough, listening to the faint sloshing of the waves, and hoping against hope that the Spirits were watching over the child enough to let him help her. Eventually, it seemed his wish was to be granted, and that perhaps the Moon and Ocean spirits, or even fate, were keen to look after the child, and sent a kindly current that drifted her right beneath him.

The floe was too small for him to stand on, so he steadied it with his feet, one hand hanging onto the rope and keeping his weight off the precariously rocking ice. The movement of the floe rolled the girl’s head slightly, and he could see that she was young, not even ten, her tawny skin a worrying greyish blue with cold. Her furs were wet to touch, though tiny ice crystals had formed on the individual hairs like deadly ornaments. It was difficult to tell whether she was breathing, but even so, there was no doubt in the soldier’s mind what he had to do.

Carefully, he leant forwards, summoning a small spinning circle of flames to his free palm, and moving the fire evenly over the ice that had frosted over and hidden her legs. The ice was thick, and rock solid, and Jee was mindful that a miscalculation on his part could either melt through too much of the ice floe and drown the girl, or give her bad burns on her legs. He monitored the heat he was producing, lowering it as he got closer to her legs, and watching the floe for cracks as the opacity of the ice faded, turned to water and tricked over the side. Eventually, the ice was thin clear layer; a gleaming shell encasing her legs, and he broke it with his hand. Within moments he had deftly circled her waist and torso with the second piece of rope, finding a little difficulty in moving her body, which was rigid with cold.

After that, it was about speed. Panting, he hauled himself back up once more, thanking Agni that no one else had come out on deck to witness the sunrise, and once on deck he quickly turned to where he had fastened her rope. It was a tricky operation, pulling her up without dashing her against the side of the ship, for her weight and the length of the rope combined to make her a large and difficult to control pendulum, even though the ship was not moving at speed. Eventually, however, Jee succeeded in getting her within reaching distance, and pulled her up over the railing.

He knew he should bring her before his commanding officer; Captain Zhao, but Zhao was a cruel man, a brute, and Jee could not help but feel protective of the little Water Tribe girl, barely older than a toddler, and was unwilling to submit her to Zhao’s wrath or flames. Quickly he tidied away the ropes, taking care not to leave behind any traces of the rescue, before lifting her stiff frozen form in his arms and carrying her below decks, offering up more thanks to the Spirits that it was so early. He had never really believed in destiny or fate before, but now he had some feeling in his heart that there were some people’s lives that the Spirits took a hand in, and this girl was one of them.

As he paced down the corridors, his mind was whirling about what he was to do with the girl. Only officers had rooms to themselves, and putting her in his own hammock was out of the question; the sleeping area was communal, and the chance of her being found out was so probable that it was a certainty. He paused for a moment, thinking hard, then moved to the nearest stairwell, skimming lightly down the metal steps deep into the belly of the ship.

 

Upon reflection, Jee found the store rooms were the perfect location to hide the girl. They contained all the spare gear for the ship, and were quite large. He had no trouble in wending his way through the various crates and barrels to a secluded little nook where he knew she would not be easily found, and laying his hands on all the items he required to make her up a little bed was easy. It was toastily warm in there as well, for they were next to the boiler room, and when at last he had a moment to properly look at her, he thought that some of the colour had returned to her cheeks.

Sitting cross legged beside her, he tried snapping his fingers by her ears, and lightly slapping her face, but neither did anything to wake her, and her pupils when he lifted her lids were dilated. Her skin was still cold to touch, as well, and he knew that she must have been out on the ice for a long time to have fallen unconscious from the cold. Her breathing was still very faint, and it was easy to miss as the pulse at her wrist.

Quickly, uttering up thanks to his mother for her teachings during childhood, and for spending so much of his time watching her as she worked to heal people, he navigated his way through the girl’s many layers. He dumped the wet furs to one side in a faintly steaming pile, and paused for a moment, shocked by how small she looked without them on, and immeasurably fragile, still frozen curled in on herself. It was hard to believe that she was still alive.

Her innermost layer was only vaguely damp, her body heat seeming to have dried out the fabric somewhat, and he got to work rubbing down her arms and legs with dry towels he had picked up on his way past the communal bathroom, channelling a faint heat through his palms in an attempt to speed up the process.

Slowly, warmth and colour began returning to her. A faint flush rose into her cheeks, and her body relaxed its rigidity, allowing him to lay her out on her back. Her pulse was beating with more strength now, her breathing both audible and visible in the soft rise and fall of her chest. Discarding the damp towels for the moment, Jee removed her boots, and mittens and gloves, rubbing her feet then hands with his own hands, still pushing out heat, before moving on to her neck and head, and finally crossing his palms over her heart to warm her chest cavity.

Her hair was wet, the icicles that had frozen on it having long ago melted, and Jee fiddled his way through undoing it so he could dry it, running it through a dry heated towel, and finally laying it out across the pillow in a shining dark fan.

He rocked back on his heels, satisfied with his work, and immensely relieved, glad that he had joined the army for the first time. He only hoped that she would wake soon, preferably when he was there, and that she wouldn’t be frightened of her surroundings – the last thing he needed was a terrified Water Tribe girl to rush around the ship.

His mind, now that he was sure that she would survive, was burning with questions; how had she gotten there, where were her family, how had she managed to survive on the ice for so long? He wasn’t sure exactly what damage her body might have sustained from the cold, but he knew she had to have been on the ice for a very long time for her legs to have become frozen so deeply into the ice floe – longer than she ought to have been able to survive.

For the moment, however, he put his questions to one side; there was time enough for answers when she woke. Aware that he would be missed at his duties once the crew woke, he quickly tidied up the damp towels and the girl’s furs, which were now nearly dry, before leaving her tucked up and safely hidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Enter Jee...who is yet to become a Lieutenant.
> 
> Also, if you like this, or any of my stories, and you want access to sneak previews on chapters that I'm working on, Like my Facebook page, or Follow my Twitter :)  
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	5. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hakoda is forced to accept the heart-breaking truth that he has lost his daughter as well as his wife. Sokka, however, is not so ready to give up on his sister, and makes a promise that he will remember his entire life.  
> Away on the Fire Navy ship, although rescued, Katara may not be as safe as Jee first thought.

The search for Katara was a long and hopeless one. Sokka insisted on coming with his father, stubbornly frowning and talking about promises whenever anyone tried to dissuade him. But as the boy pointed out, he was the only one who knew the way.

They successfully navigated the rapids, following the course that Sokka had seen his sister’s ice floe take after they had been separated, but they had found nothing, save the faint black plume of a Fire Navy ship heading north. The tribe was too weakened for any of the men to entertain thoughts of vengeance on the disappearing ship, which they thought sure to be the ship of the soldiers who had attacked them. Instead, they searched in ever increasing circles out from the place that Sokka had last seen his sister, their hopes dwindling with each spiral.

Eventually it was Kanna who stopped her son. She had watched him fret away at the matter, wearing himself out, becoming thinner each day, unable to eat or sleep, his men ever willing to follow him, though it was clear within the first three days that Katara could never have survived; whether it was by drowning, or simply being frozen out on the barren icy wastes, or even some other means. At the end of the week, she halted him as he made to exit the igloo.

“My son, you must stop.” Hakoda stared down at his mother, only half seeing her.

“I can’t.” He said. “I have to find Katara; I have to find her…for Kya.” He did not look at her, and Kanna watched her son as he began to walk out. When she spoke her voice was sad.

“Katara is gone, Hakoda.” She said gently. “You must accept this. How can we send her spirit into the next life if you insist on clinging to it? She will never be able to rest peacefully.”

Hakoda’s mouth tightened, his lips trembling. “I… _can’t_.” He said, the words layered with heart break. He spun around to face his mother, tears in his eyes. “I can’t give up on her! I can’t lose her! I’ve already lost Kya; I am _not_ losing Katara as well!”

Kanna gazed at him with sad understanding. “I know what it is to lose loved ones, Hakoda; you know this – you saw and felt it when we lost your father in the war. But Kya and Katara are together now; they will look after each other, and it is up to you to look after your son. Sokka needs you.” Hakoda drew in a shallow shuddering breath, his eyes screwed shut, facing the ground.

“I failed them.” He whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek and onto the ground as he fell to his knees. Then his voice cracked as he opened his eyes once more, his wretchedness flooding out of them across his face. “I’ve failed them all. I –!”

Kanna dropped to the ground, folding her son into a hug, and he let go all the tears and words of anguish and loss and suffering and self-blame that had been driving him throughout the desperate search for his daughter. Kanna merely rocked him back and forth as she would a child, soothing his outpouring. It was time he let go.

 

Sokka did not forget his sister. He had been waiting outside the igloo for his father, and heard what transpired inside. Taking one of the small knives that the women used for skinning, he walked out to the harbour. There was no one else about, and the canoes bobbed in the icy water as a dry wind ruffled the water.

Sokka pulled off the mitten and glove of his left hand, and very quickly drew the knife across his palm, suppressing an exclamation at the stinging pain, and hot fire that followed. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his hand, holding it out in front of him. The faint outline of the full moon that was to come that night hung in the sky above him, witness to his words.

“By the blood I now shed, the vow I speak will bind me until its completion,” he recited, remembering the words from the old tales, “if I break it, let my soul be torn asunder to wander the tundra eternally.” The blood dripped from his palm onto the snow. “I will find you, Katara.” He promised to the open air. “I will _not_ give up on you. I will not forget the promises I made! I will _not_! _Ah!_ ” in his anger and determination he had clenched his fist too tight, digging his nails into the wound. The flick of his wrist as he opened his palm sent blood flying through the air in a crimson spray, splattering the snow before him with a sound like falling rain, and falling into the shifting sea.

Sokka stood, gazing out at the empty tundra for a few more moments, then turned back to the village to find a bandage. The blood in the water had spread on impact, patterning the blue-black water with faint red flowers for the merest moment before dispersing. The blood on the snow remained; hot, bright red against the frozen white flakes – the only evidence of his blood oath.

 

They committed Katara’s spirit to their ancestors along with her mother’s beneath the silver light of the full moon that night; all others who had died during the raid had already been buried. It was a painful ceremony, to witness and to take part in. Sokka shed tears for his mother, but for his sister he was reminded of his blood oath whenever he moved his left hand. The pain of the cut was nothing to that of his heart, but it was a good reminder not to forget. _Never_ to forget.

Sokka continued with the little remnants of his family and his tribe. He did not forget his mother’s last words to him; he did not forget his last words to his sister. He would never forget the promises he made the day the Fire Nation attacked their village.

He remembered even more so when his father and the men of the village left for war.

 

*

 

The news Zhao had delivered to the crew had Jee in two minds; firstly elation for the fact that they were headed back to the Fire Nation, secondly concern for the little Water Tribe girl in his care. Although the hawk bearing the news had arrived the same day he had found her, he had growing concerns about her. When he had first rescued her, he hadn’t given much thought of what he was going to do with her, or how she would even react to him; he had been too busy saving her life. Now, however, his mind was fraught with the difficulties of what he had undertaken. Would he return her to her family, and if so, how? Did she even have a family? Would he take her back to the Fire Nation? What would he do with her if he did? Raise her in his own family? He had a duty to her, he knew; he had saved her life, and now he was responsible for her well-being. It weighed heavily on his mind, and at times felt like a physical burden across his shoulders, but he never regretted his actions for a moment.

Furthermore, when he had snuck down to see her at lunch, she had still been unconscious, though her skin was warm enough that it was slightly sticky with sweat; he put that down to the heat from the boiler room. It was a concern, however, now that they had turned around and were on a course for the Fire Nation, how long she was going to stay unconscious for. Every moment she remained beyond his reach took her further away from her family, and if she woke to find herself in the heart of the Fire Nation, Jee did not want to think of the way she might react. A more practical consideration that had begun to circle his mind was also that of nourishment; he had no way of feeding her while she was unconscious, and it would only take a few days for her body to begin starving.

He was deeply aware that he had committed some kind of treason – by Zhao’s standards at least – but this was what the war was about, wasn’t it? Bringing the prosperity of the Fire Nation to the other Nations; helping them. He was yet to see a battlefield of any kind, and sincerely hoped that if he was to, it would be for a good reason. He had no interest in killing people from the other Nations, and as yet he was not overly enamoured of the forceful approach that Zhao advocated.

Doubts had begun to nibble at his resolve like turtleducks at a piece of bread, for before he had left the girl, he had noticed several scorch marks on her furs, and parts of her hair had been frazzled by heat. He knew he could not merely conclude that it was the work of Firebenders, but he also found it unlikely that any child would be foolish enough to get close enough to an open flame to have hair burned away at the their temples. Even if he were to believe the supposed barbarism of the Water Tribes, he did not think it would extend to any kind of punishment or ritual involving fire.

Knowing how much brooding could incapacitate him, he tucked all his thoughts away for the moment, focussing instead of his day’s duties.

 

For the next three days, Jee woke early and snuck down to see the girl and check on whether she had woken during the night. Each time she was the same; unconscious and unmoving. By the evening of the first day, Jee had come to the conclusion he would have to figure out some way of feeding her, which had resulted in him sneaking into the galley after the crew were asleep and stealing the ingredients he required. Using bowls from the store room and his fire bending, he boiled up a clear broth of vegetables with a little meat, and soaked a cloth in it, wringing the liquid out drip by drip between the Water Tribe girl’s lips as he propped her head up. He did not know how much good it did her, but it was better than nothing. The same process was used to give her water, but he was lucky if he got any more than two clothfuls of either liquid into the girl.

At lunch he would bolt his food, and go down to check on her, and the time he went to sleep at became later and later, as he lay awake in his hammock, waiting for all the lights to go out and for the snoring of his fellows to begin so he could slip away.

 

It was on the fourth day that things started to go wrong. After everyone had gone to bed, Jee snuck down to the store rooms. He did not have to put his hand on the girl’s brow to know that she was burning up; he could feel the heat in her blood radiating off her slender body. The sweat gathered in drops on her skin, and there was a high flush in her cheeks, her ears scarlet. Her chest rose and fell as though she was running, and the pulse at the base of her neck flickered wildly, though it was weak. He could feel the heat radiating off of her.

Quickly, Jee stripped off the blankets. He knew that most would take her symptoms to indicate a high fever, but he had seen his mother tend enough people with cases of heat sickness to know the signs when he saw them. Generally the patients were men who had worked too long and too hard in the open sun, and not drunk enough water; it had never crossed Jee’s mind to even suspect that such an illness could happen now. But in a way, it made sense; the girl was from the Water Tribe, she would be used to colder temperatures, and the extreme change in her temperature from freezing to being next to the boiler room of a Fire Navy ship must have been enough to cause the symptoms of the heat exhaustion that preceded the actual sickness.

Once the blankets were off, his hands went to her feet, and found they were still cold and clammy a good way up her legs past her ankles. He cursed softly to himself, wondering just how impossible the situation was going to become. Fever _as well as_ heat sickness! He sat, cross-legged, her feet in his lap, encased in his hands. Her skin would be delicate in its waterlogged state, he knew, so he worked on warming and drying her skin with the heat he radiated from his palms, waiting until her skin felt dryer before rubbing them to bring her blood and heat down into them.

He sat there until her feet felt warmer, before wrapping them up in the discarded blankets in an attempt to keep the heat in. Then he moved up to her head. Ever since he had removed the blankets she had begun to shiver, at first lightly, but with increasing strength, until now tremors ran the entire length of her body, and her skin was raised in bumps like a plucked pig-chicken’s skin. Even so, the heat coming off her was still enough for him to feel at a distance.

 

The next three days were a strain. The girl’s fever and heat sickness showed no signs of letting up, and her temperature was dangerously high – even by Firebender standards. Jee became abstracted when he was away from her, worrying. No matter how often he managed to slip away and sneak down to see her and use his bending to drain off the excess heat from her little fevered body, she didn’t seem to make much progress.

Jee took to sneaking out of his hammock and sleeping down in the storage room with her, propped up between the wall and a stack of crates wrapped in a blanket, and waking ever hour or so to check on her. There were times when she whimpered, the distressed sound breaking his heart as though it was his own daughter making it, and in such moments he stroked the damp curls across her brow until she settled and was silent once more.

 

On the fourth day her shivering stopped and her skin was much cooler to his touch – cooler than it ought to be, and his initial relief withered as he wondered just what could be happening to her now. He had picked up a lot of healing knowledge simply by watching his mother, but he was by no means an expert in all maladies.

He did his best to try and warm her, pulling the blankets back up so they covered all of her body. Even so he had spent the rest of the day in a state of concerned abstraction, drawn between worry about what illness had befallen her now, and relief at the cessation of the heat sickness and fever.

When he came down to her that night she was still cool to the touch, despite the blankets, but he was hesitant to warm her with his bending in case he started off a new wave of the heat sickness. He fed her as best he could, and then settled down to a restless sleep in his usual corner, his expression creased with a frown of concern. Her sedate expression was the last thing he saw before he faded out of consciousness, her small hand clasped in his the last thing he was aware of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good LORD, I'VE FINALLY MANAGED TO UPDATE!!!!! *does a happy dance*  
> In all honesty, I don't even know why I got stuck where I did. It was stuck on this one tiny place right at the end of the chapter, and I left it alone for months and months (I really hope it wasn't a year), and then I just came back to it and I was fine. There's no accounting for the brain, I guess.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the feely feels that I've put here! :D  
> HAKODA'S GRIEF #MANLYTEARS I do love those manly tears. Manly men crying - there is probably nothing more manly than that.  
> Sokka's promise UGH SOKKA'S PROMISE *drags at face* Such an amazing brother :)  
> And Jee, what a guy. What a guy! I just love him, he's such a lovely person :3 #sureI'mintheFireNavy,I'llsavetheWaterTribegirl #what?she'sill?I'llnurseherbacktohealth,andhavesleeplessnightsofworry
> 
> Anyway, enough with the hash tags. Until next time (whichwillhopefullybesooner,IpromiseI'lldomybest,I'vestartedthenextchapteralready,Iswear) :)
> 
>  
> 
> Please give Kudos and/or comment :) Tell me what you like or don’t like :) Questions and speculations are always welcome :D As is incomprehensible flailing if that's what you go in for :)  
> Also, if you like this story, or any of my other ones, and you want access to sneak previews on chapters that I'm working on, Like my Facebook page, or Follow my Twitter :)  
> https://www.facebook.com/josephinetomkinsauthor  
> https://twitter.com/jtomkinsauthor


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